I'd pissed off God. Sandwiched between Alice on my left, and to my right, sweet Grandma Platt, who'd taken my hand when I sat down and pressed a rosary into my palm before laying our conjoined hands on my thigh, I tried to determine what I could've done to earn a spot on God's shit list.
Was it when I snapped at Charlie the week before his death for pooping his pants? I'd known then it wasn't his fault; the prescription cocktail he took daily meant occasional bowel incontinence. With no in-house washer and dryer, a trip to the laundromat to handle soiled clothing was an additional two hours of my day I didn't have. Charlie's face had turned beet red, stammering that he'd put his pants in a plastic bag, and he'd wash them tomorrow when he "felt better". We both knew Charlie wasn't going to feel up to a four-block, two-hour errand. Let alone, lug a washer's worth of clothing with him.
Or was it when I lied to Sue Clearwater to keep her from uprooting her life when Charlie and I moved to Chicago? Friends since childhood, slow flames had started to build between Charlie and Sue after the death of Sue's husband, Harry. I would've loved nothing more than to call Leah "sister" after years of joking about being sisters from different misters; I didn't feel right uprooting the youngest Clearwater, then ten-year-old Seth, from his friends and home. I'd told Sue that Charlie and I would be all right; we'd be back in Forks in a year or less. While the ten-month treatment outcome wasn't a complete lie, it was only one of many the Seattle oncologists discussed that dark, dark day when I first learned Charlie's cancer was more advanced than he let on.
Perhaps the worst of my sins was allowing myself to lean on Jake, knowing he wanted more. I'd been careful not to make promises, not allow him to tell me how he felt about me. But I'd certainly taken advantage of his willingness to comfort me—listen to me cry over the phone at 2AM until I fell asleep, or turn our weekly movie night into a vent session as I ranted about Charlie's tough-it-out mentality that allowed the cancer to spread until it had advanced to the "oh, shit" stage, or handle all the outside yard work, unpaid, while I focused on writing my English lit papers.
So yeah, any of those examples were enough to put me on God's shit list.
Between the ER doctor arriving to tell me I'd broken my foot, fifth metatarsal specifically, and Nurse Jessica showing up with a foot brace and crutches, ("The medical supply company is closed today for Christmas. You can get a walking cast tomorrow," she'd informed me sadly) I sent Alice downstairs to assemble a meal out of whatever was available in the hospital cafeteria. I'd dressed quickly in the carpenter jeans and oversized sweater Esme had sent Alice home to grab. ("Just something from Mom's college days. It's loose, which'll be good because you've probably broken something.") I'd shoved my bloodied clothes in a plastic bag and crutched out of the ER as fast as I could. Only to find Carlisle loitering by the ER payment window.
"I'm here to help you find your way," he informed me.
"Oh," I responded flatly. Just over Carlisle's left shoulder were the sliding doors of the ER entrance. Freedom was literally twenty feet away. The clit tease on top of the entire situation took the form of an idling yellow and black cab waiting for passengers just off to the side.
Carlisle glanced over his shoulder, no doubt noticing the lustful eyes I made at "Steve's Taxi Services".
"Do you need to go home, Bella?" he asked. "Alice or I can drive you. It's been a long day. Emmett's stable and I'm sure you have responsibilities at home to attend to."
I shook my head, less as a response to Carlisle's question and more to clear my head over the overwhelming guilt that crashed over my head at his question. I'd never met a family more trusting than the Cullens. How many times had I tripped over the truth? I'd paused at questions they'd asked, weighing my words before I spoke them. Even my unathletic self could jump through the width of the hoops I'd spun.
"No," I said. "Let's go. Lead the way."
~o0o~
Across from Alice sat the "Whitlock" of "Cullen & Whitlock Entertainment Law"—Jasper. If Alice was the glittering stars in the night sky, Jasper was the moon—tall, with shaggy blond hair the color of Lake Michigan beach sand in the middle of summer. He slouched in the square hospital armchair, right ankle resting on his left knee. He drummed his fingers on the armrest periodically, studying the dust motes floating above Alice's head. Occasionally, he'd drop his gaze and look around at our group, giving me a soft, sad smile whenever he caught my eye.
Jasper had been standing at the bank of elevators as Carlisle and I slowly crutched to them. With my eyes focused on the ground, I hadn't noticed the well-dressed man standing with his back to the snail-paced party of two.
"Ah, Jasper," Carlisle called out. "You're here. I'll show you up."
"Carlisle." The two men embraced, wrapping themselves in a deep hug from hips to chest.
"I'm so sorry about Emmett. I left as soon as Alice called me," Jasper said.
"Thank you," Carlisle responded. "He's stable, and the doctor's hopeful about his prognosis. I'll explain more when we get upstairs."
"Upstairs?" I interjected. The last I knew, we were heading to the cafeteria. My new plan for escape was to say I'd left my phone in the ER and go back upstairs to get it. "Well, fuck." I thought. "Everything is conspiring against me today."
"Yes," said Carlisle. "The cafeteria closed early this afternoon for the holiday. Alice pulled together some selections for you, and they're upstairs. Everyone's gathered in one of the ICU waiting rooms." Glancing between myself and Jasper with a measure of surprise, Carlisle spoke again. "Have you met Bella?"
Dressed in a three-piece suit of metal gray, Jasper shook his head. The ends of his shaggy hair subtly bounced from side to side. "I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure."
"Then allow me to introduce you to Emmett's fiancée."
"Emmett's fiancée?" Jasper's eyes shot to mine, questions brimming in his eyes. Looking me directly in my eyes, Jasper continued. "I knew he'd been seeing someone but hadn't realized it was serious."
Stepping forward, Jasper loosely embraced me. I was glad for the extra support; my brain was commanding my legs to edge backward out of the ER and resign as ringleader of the circus I'd created. When I'd inadvertently volunteered myself for the role of "Emmett's fiancée", I'd taken that spot from Emmett's maybe-possibility in real life love.
~o0o~
In eleventh grade, James Hunter bragged to the school that I'd given up the proverbial cherry on the ice cream sundae during our one and only date. I had, literally. He'd asked to eat the cherry on top of the chocolate lava cake we'd shared. I'd readily agreed, hating the way the sweet, sugared cherry made my teeth squeak as I ate it. James quickly spooned the cherry into his mouth, leering at me from the other side of the table. I'd decided right then, and there he'd be taking me home instead of heading to Mike Newton's homecoming party as planned.
Walking into school the next Monday, I heard wolf whistles when I walked past, but when I turned around, no one was looking directly at me. Some of the other girls started whispering together as I passed them. That wasn't an unusual occurrence, but the more it happened, the more anxious I felt. It wasn't until Josh Covington slammed his shoulder into the locker next to mine Tuesday afternoon that the butterflies in my stomach turned into sinking dread.
"Damn, Swan," Josh had said. "If I'd know all it took was a date at the diner, I would've taken you out a long time ago."
"What do you mean," I'd asked.
"You and Hunter, man!"
"Me and Hunter what?"
Josh rolled his eyes in a "are you fucking kidding me" way. "The big cherry on the ice cream sundae! I heard James took yours."
I stared at Josh. Did Josh mean what I thought he meant? Was James telling people I had sex with him? I wanted to vomit. I took a shallow breath, and then another. Willing the bile to stay down, I slammed my locker shut and turned away from Josh.
"I can't sleep with what I can't see," I called over my shoulder. "James wishes."
I'd rather talk to Josh Covington about having sex with James Hunter a thousand times over than know that Emmett's girlfriend was somewhere in Chicago, unaware that he hovered between life and death. The smell of antiseptic mixed with the strong aroma of cleaning products, along with the churning shame in my stomach, sent me flying toward the closest trash can. As I vomited water, bile, and guilt into the trash bin, Carlisle placed a light hand on my back, sending Jasper into the nearest washroom for a damp paper towel.
"Let me take you home," Carlisle told me, rubbing small circles between my shoulder blades. "You've been through quite a bit today." I weighed my options; going home meant Carlisle and by extension, Esme and Alice, would know where I lived. Or stay despite my churning gut. The fear of the former outweighed the immediate worry of the latter.
"No, it's okay," I said, my voice hoarse from the acidity coating my throat.
"Bella, I insist. You've dealt with enough for one day. Let's go up; I'll grab my keys from Esme, and let her know what's going on."
Carlisle wrapped an arm around my shoulders, steadying me as I shuffle-hopped onto the elevator Jasper held open. As the elevator doors clanked shut, I stared at the plethora of fingerprints covering the silver finish. How many would there be if I added mine? My fingers itched to grab the seam of the doors and yank them open. I'd heard of people gaining superhuman strength during an emergency; a single person lifting a car to rescue someone trapped underneath. The Greek dude who ran twenty-six miles to warn Athens about the Persians. I could add my name to the list.
~o0o~
My luck ran out on the next floor. The doors opened, revealing a petite silver-and-rust-haired woman who stepped on with a large picnic hamper over one arm. She marched into the center of the car, forcing Carlise and Jasper to shuffle toward the edges.
"I hate hospital food," she announced. Jasper and Carlisle traded amused looks over her head.
"What's in the hamper, Granny?" asked Jasper. Hands tucked in his back pockets, bent nearly in half to sniff the crack of the wicker basket, Jasper comically resembled an overeager golden retriever, hoping to get the first morsel of the roast chicken surely tucked within the hamper's depths.
"I'm the goodest boy." His imaginary tail wagged. "Goodest good boy. I'll be a gooder boy if you gimme a widdle of what you have."
I was saved from further musings on Jasper's imaginary tail, and what that meant for my current mental state, when the elevator doors opened, framing Alice. She stood in the ICU elevator lobby, a brilliant, luminescent sprite against the lackluster taupe walls. Gnawing on her thumbnail, Alice's face flooded with relief when she spotted me.
"You're here," said Alice. "I was just on my way down to find you." She stepped forward, threading her arm through mine.
"Give Bella some space," Carlisle chided. "She's tired. I came up to grab the keys from your mother, then I'm driving Bella home." Carlisle smiled at me as he held the elevator doors open for me to pass through. Picnic-basket Granny and Jasper slowly ambled down the hall, a plaque on the wall proclaimed "Family Waiting Room" with a large arrow to the right.
"Oooo," Alice exclaimed. "I'll take Bella home! We can wait together for updates while I help Bella around her apartment."
I stumbled as my crutches landed haphazardly at Alice's proclamation. My head jerked up to see Carlisle frowning at Alice while Alice beamed beatifically at him, the self-assured smirk of a girl confident she was right, and all Carlisle had to do was catch up. The contrast between our two faces couldn't be more stark; bug-eyed horror was written all over mine.
"No." Carlisle's voice was gentle and firm. "I'll drive Bella home. Your invitation to join her needs to be issued by Bella herself."
Alice pivoted ninety degrees, a megawatt smile adhered in place. She opened her mouth to speak just as Esme stepped into the ICU foyer.
"Oh, there you are," she said. "Mom cooked Christmas dinner and brought it in."
"Mom," Alice said. "I think—"
"Food first," Esme interjected. "We'll make decisions after we eat."
"But …"
"Mary Alice," said Esme pointedly. "Not now."
Alice clomped into the private waiting room. "Not fair! Not fair!" chimed in the echo of her footsteps.
Esme sighed, wiping the corners of her eyes with her thumb.
In my last English lit class at U-Dub, the professor assigned each student a word. Our assignment was to research the cultural history of our word and submit a ten to twenty-page paper on our word's significance. Mine was the word "three". Some of the cultural elements were easy: the holy trinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, musical trios, tripod legs. Other elements required more finessing. When I discovered a poem by John Ciardi, I found my thesis. Using the symbolic imagery of a keystone to represent marriage between two people, Ciardi emphasized a marriage's strength existed only when the vulnerable half-arch rested its weight against another half-arch.
Esme was the Cullen keystone.
The calm, composed, almost mother-in-law from before was gone; anxiety replaced fortitude, dread took precedence over optimism. Her strength derived from being needed. Earlier, she'd been my pillar of fortitude, listening to my harrowing tale of Emmett's attack and rescue. She'd recognized my trepidation at meeting her and Carlisle and instantly shifted the picture of her family to include me, her son's supposed fiancée.
Jamming my crutches into my armpits, I wrapped my arms around Esme's shoulders and leaned. Within all my lies, there remained one truth: I loved her son. I had loved him from afar, and right now, with his terrified family, I could show that love up close.
Esme hooked her arms around my shoulders and pulled me in for a deeper embrace. We hugged for several minutes while nurses, doctors, and other families clambered out of the elevators. When the doors dinged open again, I expected to feel another wave of brief, and curious stares pass behind me. Instead, the elevator emitted a solitary passenger.
"Mom? I came straight from the airport. How's …? I mean, is he …?" the unfamiliar voice asked. "Where's Emmett?"
Author's Notes:
As always a huge "Thank you" to Alice's White Rabbit and SunflowerFran beta-ing and prereading.
Next update will be in two weeks. 1) I need to rewrite the next chapter. I apparently forgot how tenses work and every other paragraph uses a different tense. 2) It's Kiddo's winter break. I have a bad habit of too-much phone time in the evenings. I'm working at becoming a more present parent, which means I'm hiding my electronics in another room during the day. (This, however, does not apply to my Remarkable tablet, which I use to jot down story ideas and complete my rough drafts).
See you soon!
PS: The Twilight Bodice Rippers Contest is currently collecting submissions! Authors have until December 31st to submit their stories. Official rules and submission guidelines can be found in the Bodice Rippers Contest facebook group or the Bodice Rippers Contest (search as one word) author page on .